


The Rule of Three: Or the Ethics of Reciprocity

by Sunshineditty



Series: Breath and Shadow [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Magical Realism, Other, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshineditty/pseuds/Sunshineditty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How could your best friend turning into a werewolf and then your arch-nemesis turning into a nasty lizard be topped? Apparently the universe was determined to prove that yes, Beacon Hills really <i>was</i> sitting on the Hellmount.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Usual warnings: Spoilers for "Unleashed" Episode 3x04

_Winston Churchill had it right: If you're going through Hell, keep going._

 

The last few days since the revelation about Boyd and Erica's treatment at the hands of the Alpha Pack, the introduction of Derek's little sister Cora – and wasn't _that_ suspicious in its own right? – and the first of the Three-Fold deaths were definitely surpassing the craziness of _last_ year, which was something Stiles never thought would happen. How could your best friend turning into a werewolf and then your arch-nemesis turning into a nasty lizard be topped? Apparently the universe was determined to prove that yes, Beacon Hills really _was_ sitting on the Hellmount.

 

Stiles was beginning to think he needed to track down Joss Whedon and find out if the man was just a genius or connected to the supernatural world. He definitely seemed like a man who knew too much (at this rate, Derek would be proven wrong and Vampires _did_ exist). Scott's voice broke into his musings and he tuned back into the ongoing conversation, mentally shelving his rumination for a later date. The info might make an appearance on the spreadsheet.

 

“Looked everywhere, it's like he just walked away; left his car, his dog.”

 

“Is it weird to you too how many of our conversations take place in the locker room?”

  
Scott didn't even look at him. “Stiles, be serious. The guy just _disappeared_. _”_

 

“I am being serious, Scott.” Stiles drew in a breath and refocused. “Okay, like, did he-could he be like a virgin? Did he look like a virgin? Was he, you know, virginal?”

 

“No, definitely not. Deaton makes me have sex with all of his clients. It's a new policy.”

 

Stiles stopped for a moment as he stared at Scott in consternation. Obviously he was kidding, but could this actually be a thing? Did the guy disappearing mean Deaton was part of the ritualistic deaths? Maybe they weren't virgins this time because it was the start of a new cycle? Sluts? No, that couldn't be...could it?

 

“Heh.”

 

Hopefully Scott felt his head being popped like a zit. 

 

“No, I don't know if he was a virgin. And why are you talking like he's already dead? He's just _missing_.”

 

And there it was, ladies and gentlemen, his best friend's incurable optimism despite all evidence to the contrary. He really wanted to pat Scott's cheeks and tell him Santa Claus was real too.

 

Of course, if the dog owner _was_ a virgin, then the cycle was starting a new, and it was close, only a day or two from the previous three deaths, which if the dude were a serial killer – sad to say Beacon Hills wasn't so lucky to have a run of the mill normal killer – this would be escalation of the worst kind.

 

Oh man, if the killer wanted virgins...well...Stiles was definitely a virgin. Well, not virgin in the Rosy Palms kind of way, or even, you know, a few finger lengths further down, but almost only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades. Sex, he needed sex, right now. Sex so _he_ wouldn't be the next target because, lets be real, how many virgins were there left in Beacon Hills besides him?

“Stiles, you do realize you're saying this all aloud, right?”

 

“I need sex!”

 

It was then Danny's velvet voice cut through the clang of the locker room, the purring invitation to come over to his house both seductive and odd at the same time. Danny was a sweet guy when he wasn't being influenced by Jackson. And he definitely got hotter over the summer – man, the definition in his arms and chest alone was awesome. Not that Stiles was into that, though there was nothing wrong if he was.

 

“I like to cuddle.”

 

“So do I!”

 

“I was kidding.”

 

“Oh...I wasn't. Cuddling is manly. And you're mean. Mean, Danny, mean. I see why you and Jackson were friends for so long.”

 

Danny winked suggestively, even as he sauntered away, dimples flashing as he laughed at Stiles' pain. _Laughed!_

 

“Uh, dude, what was that? I mean, I thought you liked Lydia.”

 

“Hey, I could be the next victim so I can't cut off my options by limiting myself only to females.” Stiles forcefully stuffed the rest of his stuff into the locker and slammed it close. “But see what I mean about having important conversations here where anyone could overhear?”

 

“Dude, are you trying to tell me you're gay? Or, bi?”

  
“No Scott, I'm not having a gay crisis right now. I know who and what I like and want.”

 

“Uh, it would be cool with me if you, you know, liked guys. Whatever makes you happy.”

 

“On the one hand that's incredibly sweet. On the other...what the hell, Scott?”

 

“What?”

 

“Are you two Chatty Cathies done yet? The track isn't going to run itself.”

 

Both boys jerked around at the interruption. Coach Finstock stood with his arms crossed glaring at them. “You're both pretty pretty princesses and yes, Bolinski, McCall will go to the Dance with you if you ask him nicely.”

 

“That's not what we're -”

 

“I don't care what you guys are talking about. I want you out this door pronto with the bit between your teeth like you just saw the carrot at the starting line.”

 

“Uh Coach, you're crossing your metaphors there...” _Again._

 

“I don't care if I'm cross-dressing like you, Bolinski, just get out!”

 

They headed out the doors and towards the back of the field. Stiles hadn't known that being on the Lacrosse team automatically meant you were going out for Track, but it wasn't optional if they wanted to stay on the team for next season. Stiles wasn't a huge fan of running, so he was a reluctant participant, at least during school hours. Deaton had also recommended running as a part of his training because, as he put it, “you need to be able to use your magic in any situation and think quickly on your feet,” because “it's doubtful your enemy will patiently wait for you to encircle a building with belief.”

 

Running had become not just a tool in his arsenal, but also a healthy way to engage his mind. The physical activity helped keep him focused on the task at hand, a feat Stiles had once deemed impossible because too often he was easily distracted as evidenced by the millions of tabs open on his computer at home when he researched something.

 

Here, though, it was an impediment to a conversation he desperately needed to have with Scott. Sure, his best friend had heard his theories regarding the deaths, yet hadn't heard the most important information Stiles had obscured from everyone except Peter: the magical sigil. Having his body ripped apart and repaired within a short amount of time, with no scars or marks to even show for his agony, had taken its toll on Stiles while simultaneously increasing his respect for the wolves in his life.

 

It was also becoming increasingly apparent he needed to confess to Deaton exactly what he'd done and learn how to reverse it because he didn't think he could go through sharing more of Derek's pain. And with other predatory Alphas hunting him, it was more and more likely Derek would find the final death if he didn't fall in with their plans for him. Stiles didn't know how far the magic would go, if he could expect to share in the death or not, and not for the first time in the last few days cursed his curiosity which lead to use of the damn symbol.

 

“Scott,” he began, half-turned towards his friend, only to see the back of him as he hurried towards Isaac. Resentment and jealousy curdled in his stomach, winding him as if Scott had punched him instead of walking away. He was unused to sharing Scott, and had grudgingly done so with Allison, yet the other wolf was another matter.

 

Heeding some call of the wild only he heard, Isaac took off a moment later with Scott hot on his heels as they chased the twin Alphas who were in front.  This wasn't going to end well. _At all_.  And if any of the wolves hoped to hide their natures, they should check their strides. It was a brief whisper of breath between complete stand still and flat out racing across the hilly topography; he could hear Coach Finstock's exclamations of amazement at their pace.

Resigned to running alone, as he had no desire to join the herd placidly jogging ahead, Stiles stamped his feet a few times and tried to set off in the same direction.

 

 _Tried to_ , being the operative term, as a white wash of sound suddenly slammed into him and doused him in a maelstrom of heat like he was a wick set afire. It was similar to the agony of rent flesh except it wasn't a physical manifestation. His feet moved without conscious thought and Stiles shambled through the thick brush into a small clearing, his eyes automatically tracking the area with wide sweeps until it came to rest on the body hanging limply from a tree, bound to the trunk with a thin leather strap. Stiles didn't need confirmation from Scott to know this was the pet owner who went missing so mysteriously.

 

The blood was tacky and dried on the bark and the kid's clothes, so obviously not fresh, yet Stiles could still as hear unheeded screams echoing in his ears. The tree seemed to vibrate as if it were sentient and wishing to rid itself of its unwitting burden so Stiles cautiously put a hand to it, studiously avoiding the body and any evidence, and exhaled with relief when the world righted itself once again. 

 

He was only spurred from his immersion into the quiet space when a _real_ scream pierced the veil between him and the rest of the world, channeled through the vocal chords of a distraught classmate coming upon the scene. Stiles quickly looked at her, but there was no accusation on her face at his proximity to the corpse, so much as disbelief at seeing the dead boy.

 

With more mental clarity for time and space he currently existed in, Stiles stepped back so he could reexamine the gruesome scene. The same three marks were immediately apparent on the body and brought home the fact his fears for a new cycle were fully realized. Whether the boy was a virgin or not was incidental; there was a pattern to be found, he was sure, and was equally imperative he discover it, but more importantly – _how had he known where to find the body?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles was really sorry about the kid's death, but he had more important things to do: find out _why_ Kyle was chosen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual Warnings: Spoilers for episode, though not as much lifted dialogue. While I loved the talk Stiles and Lydia had about what was going on, their scene popped into my head completely different, though with some similar themes.

Stiles piloted through the rest of his morning classes with a sort of numb bewilderment. The Sheriff's Department was dispatched immediately once the body was found, and the area was cordoned off. There was a general announcement by the Principal about how the Track and Field area was not available for student use for the rest of the day, and if anyone had any questions or problems, to be excused from class and go to the guidance counselor.

The voice had barely finished crackling over the PA when Stiles raised his hand. There was no way he could continue sitting through US History without going barking mad.

"Yes Mr. Stilinski?"

"I was one of those first on scene with the dead vic, and I'm feeling very emotional right now. I think I need to see Ms. Morrell."

Mr. Westover grimaced and narrowed his eyes, but there was no way he could legitimately say no to Stiles.

"Fine, Mr. Stilinski, you maybe excused."

Stiles swept all the crap from his desk into his backpack, then bounded from the room with a fierce sort of joy. He was really sorry about the kid's death, but he had more important things to do: find out  _why_  he was chosen. Was it his dog? His sexual status? His...his..hair...like Lydia's swishing just ahead of him.

"We need to have a conversation now, Lydia."

Lydia twirled on her ridiculously high heels - seriously, how  _did_  she stalk about the school in such tall shoes? - and faced Stiles. He was proud of himself for not falling to her well shod feet at the sight of her strawberry blonde hair billowing behind her like a romance novel heroine, while the short tight leather skirt inched up to scandalous levels. His heart, already racing from the drama of finding the murdered kid and his bouncing thoughts, picked up in speed until he feared he might stroke out or something.

"Stiles, I don't have time for your histrionics right now. I'm running late for class as it is."

"There is a serial killer going around, Alpha wolves prowling, and dead bodies turning up on school grounds, and you don't think that's a little more important than your trip into  _lets forget Jackson abandoned me_ land where you bang whatever hot guy struts into your path?"

The sound of her hand cracking across his face was loud, but Stiles knew he deserved it. He was a little out of line about that last bit, even if it  _was_  true. His mother had once told him if he didn't have anything nice to say, then talk about something else until the urge to say not nice things went away, but obviously he hadn't learned that lesson too well.

"Wait, Lydia, I'm sorry!" He risked life and limb by grabbing her elbow and stalling her forward march. "I'm a little stressed right now but it's no excuse for taking it out on you."

"No, you really don't Stiles. I'm not a slut!"

"I never said you were. Just, you know, not very picky."

"And that's your last chance, Stilinski."

"Hey, it's not my fault you are choosing to ban - er hang out with one of the Alpha twins!"

"What about the Alphas?"

"You know, Ethan and Aidan, twin hotties who're totally Alpha douches. Didn't Scott or Allison tell you?"

The look on Lydia's face told Stiles they hadn't, even as she sputtered an "Oh yeah, uh right, Alpha Twins."

 _Fuck my life_ , he thought despairingly. While it had seemed prudent last year to keep Lydia out of the loop, she'd been caught up too much in the magic and werewolf bullshit to be left out now. Stiles was going to murder Scott and look very harshly at Allison for not letting her know about the murdering psychopath she was letting into her panties.

"Just be careful, okay? We think they're sniffing around to find a way to hurt Scott."

"So Aidan came on to me because he's more interested in Scott, and not because I'm gorgeous, intelligent, and great in bed?"

"Uh, yeah, so I, um -"

"That's what I thought. Don't you  _ever_  imply a guy is with me for any other reason than to have sex with me!"

"Um, okay?" Stiles shook his head a little, completely at sea on how to deal with Lydia's ego.  _Change of subject, STAT!_  "I'm sure you've heard there was another body found today. And it was the dude who brought his little dog to see Dr. D the other night."

"And I'm supposed to get from that inference that you think the new cycle might be...owners with little dogs? I'm not getting rid of Prada."

"I'm not asking you to! I mean, maybe you should just, you know, let someone dog sit her for a while. Just until this blows over, ya know?"

"Stiles, I'm not really sure how much Aderall or caffeine you've consumed today, but get this. You can't make any suppositions using only one point of data; this guy is the first to show up dead and just  _happens_  to own a small dog. For all you know, him owning a dog wasn't the point, but a convenient way to kidnap him."

"Yeah, it was a little weird he went to the vet's office so late at night. I mean, I didn't even know Dr. Deaton had late hours. I know he's the only vet in town -"

"No he's not. I take Prada to Dr. Sinclair over on Baker Street."

"We have another vet?"

"Stiles."

"Okay, okay, sorry. My point is, I need your help Lyds -"

"- Don't call me that."

"Lydia Martin, you are my only hope."

"Are you quoting _Star Wars_  to me?"

Stiles had to stop for a moment, awestruck at the combination of beauty, wit, and pop-culture knowledge. "Marry me."

"No."

"Date me?"

"Not gonna happen, Stiles."

"Help me?"

"You have two dead bodies -"

"Four actually."

Lydia stopped, her hand on the door. "Four?"

"The kid you found, a girl abducted from her birthday party, and some girl in the woods. The guy today made number four. And they're dying in completely ritualistic ways, three bodies per cycle and three wounds on the bodies, all types of trauma that would kill someone individually. There's something oddly familiar about the way they're dying."

"Anything magical?"

_I zoned out and became one with a tree that a dead boy was hanging from. Does that count? I'm experiencing the regeneration of an Alpha wolf as he's torn apart in battle, somehow neither of us dying or me even showing signs of something happening. I don't think that has anything to do with the bodies, but I think I might have actual magical abilities, more than what Dr. Deaton described four months ago._

_"_ I don't think so?"  _I don't know?_

"Then let the authorities handle them."

"Someone like my father."

"No, I mean, your  _actual_  father. He's Sheriff of this town for a reason, Stiles. Let him do his job."

"But he could get hurt."

"People are  _already_  getting hurt." Her voice softened, though her expression didn't. "You obviously don't think wolves are involved, otherwise you would've already said, and there's no proof of any magical signature, so why not just let someone who actually knows what they're doing take over?"

Stiles could only watch her walk away as always having the last word.

_Because I have a gut feeling this is so much worse than anything we've dealt with so far._

Suddenly his skin felt too tight and his clothes itchy. Stiles longed to tear them from his body and race nude through the woods, feeling the air against his skin even as he became one with the earth beneath his feet.

Intent on heading towards the Preserve, the long sprawling wooded area that encompassed most of the town, he nearly walked past a display of photos and candles littering the hallway. Annoyed, he glared at the collection, only registering then that it was the face of the dead boy he'd found earlier and whose name was apparently Kyle as written across the banner taped to his locker.

"How the hell did they get this together so fast?" He muttered to himself, even as he scoped out the different photos detailing the life Kyle had left behind. There were a lot of shots of him with the same blonde girl so she must be his girlfriend.  _And she would know if he were a virgin or not._

A warning tingle in his bones yanked him from his contemplation of the altar to death, and he turned instinctively, just in time to see Boyd passing by.

"Vernon! Hi! Hey! When did you get back?"

The arched brow and dead pan expression was so reminiscent of Derek, Stiles almost asked if facial muscle control was inherited though the bite.

"Don't call me that. Why do you care, Stiliniski?"

"Well, you're, you know, and I'm you know."

"I'm on my way to class and you're annoying me."

"We're -" Stiles leaned in to drop his voice to a whisper, "Forces that fight in the night together."

"No, what we are, are two people standing in the hall that happen to share the same air space through no fault of my own."

There wasn't a hint of Beta Gold, yet Stiles could sense the way Boyd's skin was starting to ripple with hair as his emotions stirred the change.

"Hey, now, now calm down big guy. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to know if you knew this dude," he frantically thumbed over his shoulder at Kyle's locker. It was meant as a diversion since Beacon Hills High was large enough to house several hundred kids, and there was no way one person would know all the students.

But Boyd's expression altered from blank stone face to a shallow sense of pity. "Yeah, we were in ROTC together."

"That's great! You were friends? You know things about him."

"What I know is he's a murdered kid found this morning and we happened to belong to the same program. My only friend is dead."

"And what, Cora is chopped liver?"

Stiles winced, completely expecting a hand to shove him into the locker bay after that somewhat insensitive comment. He just seemed determined to alienate  _everyone_  around him today. Probably not a good time to bring up the other wolf trapped inside the vault with him while he was incarcerated. Boyd, however, wasn't Derek, or Isaac, or even Jackson, so he just huffed angrily before stalking away.

"Good talk, Boyd!" Stiles called out before dashing down the hall in the opposite direction, towards the parking lot. Just as he was passing the Front Desk hallway, making sure to walk slowly so as not to garner attention, he noticed his dad and Tara standing in an office with a thin blonde girl. The same blonde he'd seen peppered throughout Kyle's memorial pictures posted on his locker.

It was easy to slouch down to peek through the office window though he couldn't hear anything the girl said regardless of the open door. The Sheriff casually looked over and Stiles hunkered down and turned his back to the window, hoping his dad hadn't seen him. Fortunately for him, Kyle's girlfriend exited through the door right then, and stood there for a moment trying to control her sobs.

"Ashley, hey can I ask you a question?" Stiles replicated the Sheriff's gentle if no-nonsense voice he always used when questioning upset witnesses, and was gratified when the teenager nodded. Her bright blue eyes were reddened with the strain of crying, and she visibly trembled, but she willingly stepped further down the hallway.

"This is going to sound really odd, and I apologize for asking it at a time like this, but it's important."

"Do I know you?"

"No, but I knew Kyle, we were in ROTC together."

Stiles mentally winced and apologized to the universe for his (necessary) lie.

"Oh. I don't know anything about who killed him."

"Uh, no, that's not what I need to know." Stiles drew a deep breath. "Did you – together- you know – with Kyle?"

"Huh?"

"Was Kyle a virgin?"

At least Ashley didn't put the same amount of force into her slap as Lydia. Stiles doubted his face was even red from her palm.

"Stiles Stilinski, you should be ashamed of yourself accosting this poor girl," Tara, his dad's Deputy, spat at him as she wrapped an arm around Ashley. "C'mon I'll take you home."

It was hard watching his only lead walk away and Stiles wracked his brain trying to think of how he could find out more about Kyle's background.  _Was it because he was a virgin? Why did the killer take him!_

"What the hell are you doing here, Stiles?"

The furious whisper-yell broke through his increasingly chaotic thoughts, and Stiles looked up into his dad's angry face.

"Whatever you think you're doing, stop. And I mean it. I'm telling you this as your Sheriff, not as your father." He pointed at the office, where a group of men Stiles hadn't noticed stood. "That's the California FBI Liaison. We've had enough deaths here they've finally decided to send in a Task Force out of D.C. because they think we might have an actual serial killer on our hands. And I  _don't_  want my teenaged son who  _happens to be at every crime scene_  to get noticed by them. It wouldn't be a good thing."

"Dad, you don't think I'm  _responsible_ do you?"

The Sheriff sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Of course not, Stiles. I know you. I've raised you. You have an unhealthy fascination with dead things and are often strange, but it doesn't add up to serial killer. They, on the other hand, have no clue who you are really other than a kid who lurks and appears to have a lot of knowledge  _he shouldn't have_  on these cases."

"I'm, I'm just trying to find the pattern."

"It's not  _your_  job to do that, son."

"But, Heather -"

His dad finally eased from angry to sorrowful as if memories of his life-long friend flashed through his mind.

"Stiles, just go back to class, please, and leave this investigation up to the authorities. I promise you we'll find the sick son-of-a-bitch who took her."

He nodded, slumping his shoulders in resignation, and grabbed his stuff from the chair.

"I'll see you at home?"

"I don't know when I'll be off. With the skeleton crew and these new murders -"

Stiles held up a hand to stop the flow of words. Ever since Kanima-Jackson killed nearly the entire Sheriff's department, the remaining few who were lucky enough to have that night off were working overtime to make up the lack despite having help from nearby Butte County.

"I'll leave food in the fridge for you."

"You're a good kid, Stiles. Don't ever think I don't know that."

Lying to his dad was becoming harder and harder, especially since Stiles had knowledge the Sheriff didn't, and he could help close this case a lot quicker than the FBI Task Force. In fact, having even more strangers tramping around their town would probably do more harm than good because the forces at work here wouldn't play nicely.

The ride to his house was fraught with tension as he kept glancing in the mirrors, hoping not to spot any department cars or any wolves. His nerves couldn't take another confrontation with anyone right now.

Clopping upstairs, Stiles threw his book bag in the corner, and went to his knees in his closet as he pushed aside dirty clothes so he could pull out the steamer trunk his mother brought when she emigrated to America.

Upon first glance, it looked like it only housed his old comic books and various toy models, but beneath it all was a false bottom that stored stuff he truly wanted to keep hidden. Before the bite, Stiles stored what little print porn he had, but since then, it became the cubby hole to store all his esoteric materials and magical aides.

When Dr. Deaton had first started training him, Stiles had received a few books rife with spells and recipes he was expected to memorize. He was explicitly told  _not_  to photo-copy the material, which Stiles didn't. Instead, he painstakingly rewrote each one in a separate journal he bought just for it; but even more prized than his spell book, were the xeroxed copies of the Argent Bestiary. Before they slipped the USB back to Gerard, Stiles had made sure to duplicate it on his own USB stick, and later downloaded the pages. While he had great faith in technology, he also figured it would be handy to have physical copy he could add his  _own_  notes to. It didn't seem too far-fetched to eventually write a companion copy meant just for werewolf use.

He scanned through the pages, not sure what he was looking for, but knew it was information he had read before that stuck in his head. Wiki and Google were great and all, but he had to wade through crap to find even a  _glimmer_  of relevant data, and even then he couldn't be sure if it was even true or not.

It was then, his mind spinning, that his eyes caught on a significant chapter header.

_Druids._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may or may not have noticed that I sort of played with Stiles' timeline during the day. I felt it was more impactful if he ran into Lydia and Boyd prior to his talk with Ashley and his dad, a more natural progression to him leaving school to see Deaton. It just seemed strange to me that he would be content to go through his day with all the questions and theories floating in his head. So...I took artistic license and arranged it to my liking.


End file.
